Light a Fire
by titaniasfics
Summary: Once he had begged for her life. What she gave him in return was so much more. A growing together fic in four vigettes. Written for Prompts in Panem - Round 8: The Farewell Tour. Fanvideo and banner by the outstanding akai-echo!
1. Coming Home

**_Bonus:_** _To watch the fanvideo for this fic and the song **Light a Fire** by the incomparable _**_akai-echo_** _, click_ ** _HERE_** ** _._**

 **"** **I raise my left arm and twist my neck down to rip off the pill on my sleeve. Instead my teeth sink into flesh. I yank my head back in confusion to find myself looking into Peeta's eyes, only now they hold my gaze. Blood runs from the teeth marks on the hand he clamped over my nightlock.**

 **"** **Let me go!" I snarl at him, trying to wrest my arm from his grasp.**

 **"** **I can't," he says."**

 **―** **Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay**

When she stepped out of the doorway and stomped her way around the balcony, I had no expectations about who I would find. Which Katniss would appear? Would it be the girl who snuck out into the forbidden woods to bring back meat and sell it right under the peacekeeper's noses? I hadn't seen that Katniss since the first time we were reaped.

I think, subconsciously, I had imagined that she would be as I last saw her - barely pieced together, covered in freshly healed skin, hair ragged and fire-singed, eyes full of grief and haunted by every single soul who'd died, carrying their demise as her own personal guilt.

Instead, she'd become a ghost herself.

I swallowed hard as she came upon me, with a half-scream building on her lips. Her hair was beyond dirty - matted together from the oil of neglect. Her skin was scarred and sallow, covering a rail-thin body that would blow away in the breeze. She looked downright awful and the sight of her turned my stomach. She was wasting away.

"You're back," she said absently, her eyes lacking their usual metallic sharpness.

"Dr. Aurelius wouldn't let me leave the Capitol until yesterday," I answered. "By the way, he said to tell you he can't keep pretending he's treating you forever. You have to pick up the phone."

She appraised me finally, the same way I'd evaluated her but gave no indication of her conclusion, the clouds still masking any expression in her eyes. When she finished, she made to move a lock of hair that hung over her eyes but it was so matted, it continued to hang, tangled and greasy over her face. I couldn't help but frown at this and made a mental note to have a talk with Haymitch.

"What are you doing?" she asked, and I realized she'd become defensive.

"I went to the woods this morning and dug these up. For... her," I replied. "I thought we could plant them along the side of the house."

Her face changed, becoming contorted with anger when she glanced at the flowers, and for a moment, I was confused. Had I done it wrong? Had I miscalculated? All I wanted to do was honor Prim, to find a way to remember her, and help Katniss heal. Dr. Aurelius would have approved the gesture as life-affirming.

But the wave of rage that passed over her face, was replaced with a pain so acute, I almost raced up the stairs to comfort her, though I hadn't touched another human being in more than a month. She nodded and turned her frail, bent body towards the house and ran inside. I heard the footfalls of her normally light step as she pounded up the stairs, followed by a heavy thud. I was almost moved to follow her inside, fearing she might have fallen in her haste, but the noise resumed, so I continued digging. I paused again when, moments later, a crash from the downstairs, like glass shattering, caused me to stiffen and rise again but her normal movements inside soothed me and I settled back down to finish my work.

I went to see Haymitch that very same day, struggling to remain calm. It had been more than a month since I'd last saw him also, but he was in the same position I'd always found him in when I came to visit him before the second games - head bent over the table, an array of bottles in various stages of consumption before him, the sounds of his alcohol laden snoring filling the room. I took care not to get caught by his swinging blade when I woke him.

"I just saw Katniss," I said by way of greeting, not trying to keep the accusation out of my voice.

"Hey, boy! They let you out of the funny farm..." Haymitch answered with a voice raspy from sleep and alcohol.

Fury rose within me, a flood of emotional blackness so bleak, the last time I'd felt it, I'd almost strangled Katniss to death. The sudden intensity of my anger frightened me.

"She's a mess!" I seethed, my fists clenched at my sides. I felt every vein pop out on my wrists.

"Well, sweetheart was never very emotionally unstable…" but my fist stopped his words as I released my grief and heartbreak on him.

"You left her to rot, you fucking asshole," I hissed, knocking over his bottles as I pulled back again, so swiftly, I did not register the second blow until it connected to his lip. Haymitch's head whipped with the impact before he turned back to me, wiping a trickle of blood from his lips.

"Is this the thanks I get?" he said, pouring alcohol onto a filthy rag nearby and bringing it up to his split lip.

I shook the force of the blow from my hand. "What should I thank you for? Saving my life? Taking care of Katniss? Seems you fucking failed on all counts!" I snarled, turning on my heel and striding to the door. I don't know what I thought I'd get from Haymitch - an explanation? A rebuttal of what my eyes had seen? Something that would justify Katniss' condition? It made no sense for me to stick around, getting angrier by the moment. Plus, I already felt like shit for the words I'd uttered, and I wasn't exactly emotionally equipped to deal with anything more complex than my anger.

"You can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped," he growled after me, followed by a hiss of pain as he dabbed at his wound again. "You think you might be baking some bread any time soon?"

I froze at the doorway, turning to my former mentor and current neighbor. "You got some balls, you know that?"

"Haven't had good bread in a while," was all he said and, just as quickly as it had come, my anger dissipated, leaving a profound emptiness inside. What was the point of getting angry with someone when they could barely take care of themselves let alone someone else? I didn't feel ashamed as much as I felt despondent.

"We'll see," was all I would commit to as I pushed the door open and stepped through, letting it slam shut behind me.

 **XXXXX**

I heard her that very afternoon.

I realized immediately that it was both a blessing and a curse to live so close to Katniss. My old flat above the bakery had been destroyed in the firebombing that had wiped out most of District 12 and I was still assigned the house in Victor's Village. As I sorted out my few possessions, I heard her voice through the open window, heard the shouting and screaming, _"She's not coming back! She's never coming back here again!"_ I raced to my front door, throwing it open and then stopped, thinking of my time in Dr. Aurelius' care. I remembered my own breakdown, when I finally allowed myself to the feel the pain of my family's loss and the loss of so many in District 12. I remember the tears of rage at so much wasted life, the horror that the world had once been that way and the fear that it might become that way again, but this time, I might not have any strength left to confront it. It was a black time, those grieving days.

But when they were done, I became stronger. No one could go through that with me. I had to face those days alone.

So I sat on the steps of my house, listening to the keening that was Katniss' mourning song and waited. She had to go through that, too. Maybe many times. She had to do it by herself because some walks, you had to take alone.

But what she didn't know was that she wasn't alone. Not really. Not anymore.

 **XXXXX**

When silence finally fell and night blanketed the world, I rose and tread carefully in the direction of Katniss' house. It was quiet, as I expected, but a sudden terror at the absolute stillness of the house moved me to peek through the window. The sight of Katniss sprawled on the floor of her living room moved me to action. I strode quickly through her front door without knocking, though careful not to startle her with my heavy, uneven tread.

I was shocked to see Buttercup, standing like a guard near Katniss' belly. His return to District 12 was a complete mystery to me, and he watched every move I made, as if deciding whether I was someone to hiss at or no. He was protecting Katniss. I asked myself what he might be protecting Katniss from - because from the sound of his ugly purring, it certainly wasn't from me.

I listened to her breathing softly, an occasional whimper escaping her chapped lips. As I bent to carefully scoop her up, I became alarmed at the lightness of her frame engulfed inside her father's hunting jacket and pants. I had a sudden vision of a mountain of cheese buns sitting before her and imagined her eating each one, her body filling out as she consumed her favorite treat. It brought a sudden stab of happiness to imagine myself sitting across from her, watching her eat, and I committed then and there to bring her bread the very next morning and make that vision a reality.

I carried her up the stairs, her exhaustion so complete, it appeared almost unnatural as she hung limply in my arms. But I understood, it was the kind of sleep a person falls into when they just don't have the resources to go on. The need for emotional rest is so profound, it pushes every conscious thought out of the way until the only thing that is left is the welcome void that drowns out all the senses, cocooning you from a world that you are no longer equipped to process. I knew. I'd been there.

The bedroom I walked into was the exact replica of mine, down to the position of the bed. I lay her on top of the covers and carefully took off her boots before tucking her in, jacket and all. She mumbled something about Prim but settled back into her protective sleep, and I couldn't resist brushing a lock of her newly washed hair away from her forehead. I suddenly felt sorrow - for myself and for that drunkard, Haymitch. I even made a mental note to bring him a loaf of bread, even though he truthfully didn't deserve it.

But most of all, I grieved for the girl I found. On that day, Katniss gave me back my first gift. After being angry and lost for so long, I finally felt the first twinge of my old compassion return. It spread it's sorrow through my body at the sight of this girl who had intimidated me with her strength and resilience for so long, now frail and broken from grief. It roared back to life as my heart broke open for the Girl on Fire whose flames had long since burned out, but not before they had consumed her.

 **XXXXX**

 ** _This fic is dedicated with all my heart to my dearest friend,_** ** _loving-mellark_** ** _, who has always been a source of constant support and true friendship to me. I don't think there is anyone who has not been touched by you._**

 ** _Title is based on the song_** ** _Light a Fire_** ** _by Rachel Taylor. Watch the fanvideo based on both this fic and that song by the unbelievably, singularly talented_** ** _akai-echo_** ** _. I love working with you and your friendship has sustained me in the writing of this story. Ti voglio bene!_**

 ** _I also want to thank my friend and longtime collaborator,_** ** _solasvioletta_** ** _, who has been my staunchest ally and greatest friend in this adventure. She has beta'd every single story I have written in these last three years. You and I have a special date waiting for us._**

 ** _Finally, many thanks to_** ** _peetaspenis_** ** _(misshoneywell) for devising this challenge which has yielded some of the best, most memorable Everlark stories ever written. This is the last hurrah but it has been a beautiful ride and I have been privileged to participate in four of the seven rounds (and a handful of Holiday Challenges). I have no words for what it all meant to me and the bittersweet feeling as these last stories are posted._**


	2. The Memory Book

**_Written for Prompts in Panem, Day 4 - Seven Deadly Sins - Wrath (1)_**

 ** _Bonus:_** _To watch the fanvideo for this fic and the song_ _ **Light a Fire**_ _by the incomparable_ ** _akai-echo_** _, click_ ** _HERE_** ** _._**

 **Part 2: The Book of Memories**

 **In the quiet that follows, I try to imagine not being able to tell illusion from reality. Not knowing if Prim or my mother loved me. If Snow was my enemy. If the person across the heater saved or sacrificed me. With very little effort, my life rapidly morphs into a nightmare. I suddenly want to tell Peeta everything about who he is, and who I am, and how we ended up here.**

 **―** **Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay**

I brought her bread afterwards. Everyday, without fail. I helped Greasy Sae make breakfast. It was quiet at first, as Katniss fed all her bacon to Buttercup. But I watched as slowly, after many lost days, she came back to life. At first, it was barely a slice, then two, until the day came when she had no more bread left from the day before. She set out to hunt more often and that thing happened that I'd been waiting for - the color came back to her cheeks. She filled the hollow confines of her clothes. She lost the appearance of a wraith and slowly returned to herself again.

I came to her every morning, at first just for breakfast, but then I stayed longer. It's funny how it happened. She didn't ask outright. She didn't say, _Come stay with me, I miss you and I'm lonely without you._ That wasn't her way. Not at the beginning.

Instead, she started with showing me things. Her father's bow. Her parent's wedding picture. The spile from the arena. She described the woods, plants she'd found, asked me to plan a garden with her.

I tried to reciprocate, tried to talk of my parents, my brothers, of life in the bakery, but it was all very confusing in my mind. Memories poured over each other like cataracts, a jumble of disjointed images that were familiar and yet strange. I wanted to remember - they were my family, after all, with all their defects and imperfections. And they had died horribly. Sometimes that realization came on me as if it were the first time, and I stayed in my room, to wrestle with that truth, either in silence or with paint.

I kept all these things to myself.

"It's almost lunch time," she said one day, her voice so low, I thought it might crack. "I caught a few squirrels today."

"I can help you cook them," I offered.

She gave me a half-smile, the first one I'd seen since the Quarter Quell. Her face strained under the strangeness of the expression but soon, her muscles remembered and she eased into it. It brightened her face, making me feel a little dizzy. I had forgotten the effect she could have on me.

After that, we cooked together often, saying very little and only ever about the food. But in that quiet kitchen, I didn't feel the awkwardness of the silence. I felt calm and at peace because I was with her. And to some degree, she seemed to feel the same way. She was serene as she cleaned meat or cut vegetables. I knew her nights were terrible - I barely closed my eyes for fear of what I would see on the other side of them. I saw the faces of my family and watched them become consumed by flames and bombings, unable to stop it from happening. I could barely remember anything else - the hijacking had made my mind a strange place when it came to drawing out the memories of things - but I could bring to mind their deaths in vivid detail, though I had not witnessed them myself.

And I heard Katniss's screams pierce the night. The routine of each day seemed to ward the evil away for just a little while, but it came back every night to visit us both.

One day, when we'd had our lunch, Katniss left the kitchen and brought back a large box. The Capitol seal on top made me wary.

"What's that?" I asked.

She moved the flaps aside, pulling out the packaging that held a large, leather book. When she handed it to me, I was impressed by the elegance of the cover and the quality of the thick paper inside. I thought of all the sketches I could draw on paper as fine as this.

"This is beautiful!" I said, with real admiration.

"I got the idea from my mother's plant book," she said as I studied the binding, which opened discreetly to permit pages to be added.

"Which idea?" I asked as she turned to serve the tea she had been steeping.

"A Book of Memories," her voice shook as she said this, and I knew we were treading new ground. "There's so much I wish I could just...forget...things that I can't stop thinking about, no matter how hard I try. But I don't want to forget...them. I want to remember all the people who mattered...to us..all the people who were lost."

It was the first time we spoke directly of the dead. We were so skittish in that period, doing everything to not disrupt the delicate equilibrium we'd found with each other. We could hear each other screaming out our nightmares into the night. We both understood why we tried our best to stay away from town, why we drew a tight circle around our lives and let very few people in. We were burned and damaged, our new skin still raw and we didn't want to press issues too hard because we were so afraid that if we did, we might start bleeding and never stop again.

"We can...we can write what we remember and maybe add a picture…" she stammered.

"I can make a sketch if we can't find a picture to add…"

Katniss nodded her head in approval. "Dr. Aurelius said he would help with supplies and research, if we needed it." She furrowed her brow when she said this. "But I don't think we'll need research. We have enough between the two of us to add the information we need."

"We're enough," I agreed, in newfound admiration of her. It was such a brave and beautiful thing to do and for a moment, I forgot myself and pulled her in for a hug. She was warm and soft, her bones no longer so prominent under her skin. I became lost in the smell of her, so familiar and yet, after so much time, like new again, that I didn't realize what I'd done until I felt her reach beneath my arms and wind around my back in return. I almost pulled back, ready to apologize for being so forward but her grip was firm and I realized she was hugging me back. A million moments surged through me - the Victory Tour, the long, terrifying nights on the train where all we had was each other to feel safe against powers we could not control. The Arenas. The beach. It was us over and over, trying to hold onto something safe and good in a world that was far from either.

I gave up all thoughts of letting go, and we held each other for a very, very long time.

 **XXXXX**

The Book of Memories brought us closer than anything we'd done before. We had no particular order, so Katniss followed wherever her heart told her to go. We started with Rue, filling several pages about who she was, her family, the names of her mother and siblings. It was the first time we cried like we'd never cried together. Each page was a tiny memorial, a remembering and sending off of each person who had become a victim of the previous regime. Katniss did not want them to slip off into oblivion. They would have a permanent place, not just in our hearts, but in the book also.

We never again cried as much as when we put that book together. We had found a way to talk about the things that happened to us, about our grief, our guilt - Katniss felt responsible for everything, and the guilt pushed her into bouts of depression so deep, I thought she might never return. But she did. Every single time. And when she came back, she sought me out, and we recommenced our work again, tirelessly honoring the dead.

Then the day came when Katniss asked me if I wanted to add my family. I sat, somewhat stunned at the suggestion.

"But your book...is for the Tribute...the ones who died in the Games," I asked in confusion.

" _Our_ book, Peeta," she said firmly. "It's our book and it's to remember _everyone_ we lost, not just the Victors. Our families should be in there at some point. I...understand if you aren't ready to add them but one day, you should."

I was still at the _our book_ part of the discussion and hadn't realized until then that Katniss saw this as belonging to both of us. I always thought of myself as an assistant to her project, but she saw it in terms of us, another alliance, another thing we did together.

 _Together._

"I try not to think about them, I suppose," I said. "My memories...I forget things sometimes. I think it's a leftover from...the hijacking, you know?"

Katniss's face twisted in agony, and I knew I'd said the wrong thing. Maybe I'd reminded her of when I tried to strangle her, the numerous times I'd tried to kill her. "Katniss, no! I'm not a danger to you, I promise! I just...my memory is wonky, that's all."

"I'm not worried about you hurting me!" Katniss exclaimed, standing up to pace as she spoke. "That's not it at all!"

"Then what? Why the look?" I asked, sincerely curious.

"Because it's all my fault!" she exclaimed, the truth bursting out of her chest.

"It's not your fault!" I stood up also, alarmed that she could still think that way. "Don't say that!"

"It's my fault and I…" she began to breath quickly, tears bursting from her eyes as she began to sob. "It's my fault that they...hurt you…" she doubled over in pain and sank in the chair nearest to her, crying her heart out. I was completely taken aback at how we'd gone from the Memory Book to my hijacking, but, I reasoned, it was bound to come up eventually.

"It's not your fault. None of this is your fault," I said, gathering her to me, letting her cry into my shoulder. "You didn't hold me prisoner, push the needles into me. You didn't order any of it. It was all Snow. He was trying to hold on to the little bit of power he had left…"

"Peeta!" she gasped, in a voice full of rage, her heart still racing against mine, "Why did you even come back? To this? To me? You could have so much more!"

I pulled back, astounded by the accusation in her questions. "How can you even ask?"

She struggled to stand but I held her in place. She had gone from grief to fury that frightened me in its self-hatred. "You know why I came back." I answered.

She stared at me, her hiccups and sobs subsiding as her eyes swept my face, the anger she had misdirected towards me vanishing as quickly as it had come. Without warning, I felt her fingers at the back of my neck, pulling me towards her. Before I could register the act, her lips were on mine, a gentle but insistent pressure that begged to be acknowledged. Without hesitation, I responded in kind and kissed her back, my lips opening slightly to invite her in. It was salty and sweet and full of longing. With that kiss, she'd broken through two of our fears - my fear of burdening her, her fear that she'd damaged me.

After, we played the Real/Not Real game whenever I had doubts about my memory. We coopted the game for ourselves and in that way, Katniss coaxed the memory of my family out of me. I added my mother and father, my brothers, and the bakery, with detail after detail, so many things that I started my own journal and essentially wrote my family's history. As if a dam had broken open, the memories of the things that once made me who I was flooded my mind and took their rightful places again in my soul's history. It was another one of the many gifts Katniss would give me.

 **XXXXX**


	3. Real

**_Written for Prompts in Panem, Day 5 - The Language of Flowers - Jonquil (1)_**

 ** _Bonus:_** _To watch the fanvideo for this fic and the song_ _ **Light a Fire**_ _by the incomparable_ ** _akai-echo_** _, click_ ** _HERE_** ** _._**

 **Part 3 - Real**

 **Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips.**

 **―** **Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay**

It was a bad night.

Katniss had already woken me twice when I realized I couldn't take it anymore. I swung my leg out of bed, pulling on the prosthetic from the stand where I always left it before taking to the stairs. I was out my door and into the pitch-black night, searching the dim, starlit road for the door to her house. There was electricity in the Village - it had been restored by the time I'd gotten there. But the street lamps were sporadic at best, given that they were still under repair and, more often than not, didn't work at all. So I struggled with the darkness and relied mostly on memory and my ever-sharpening vision as it adjusted to the lampless conditions.

When I knocked at her door, there was shuffling upstairs before Katniss descend the stairs, her tread silent as always. She opened the door, a look of amazement on her sleep-deprived face.

"I realize it's late, but I just wanted to check on you," I explained, realizing as I said it that it really was the dead of night, and why exactly was I on her stair step, anyway?

"I woke you up," she stated flatly, her eyes flickering over my disheveled appearance.

"I don't sleep much anyway," I answered, hesitating before her threshold. "Maybe I can keep you company?"

She gave a nod, her lips tremulous as she stepped aside to let me in. I waited for her to lead me somewhere - the kitchen or the living room but she stood before me as if dumb, save for the quivering of her frame. She was still under the influence of her nightmare and seemed to be struggling with a decision.

"Hey…" I said gently, and it was all the encouragement she needed. She stepped forward and my arms opened to allow her inside.

"I hate the nights," she murmured into my chest, sighing deeply under the weight of it.

"I know," I said, glancing at her to watch her reaction. "I hear you every night."

"Do you?" she asked before sighing. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I get them too. I'm just not as noisy, I think."

"I never knew when you were having a nightmare," she whispered and I heard the longing in her voice. "It was always better when you slept with me."

I remembered those nights also, how well we slept. And when we didn't, there was still the two of us to make what was left of those dark, lonely hours a little more bearable. I realized I missed this too - missed her small body pressed against mine, her dark hair spreading wildly over my arm, tickling my nose.

When she turned her large, grey eyes up at me, I knew she was remembering the same things. "Would you stay with me?" she asked.

I nodded. "Of course."

She led me up the stairs, to the bedroom I had only visited when I carried her upstairs the first day of my return. In the dim light, I could see the unkempt bed, as if she had done battle with the bedsheets. I gathered up the duvet from the floor and folded it at the edge of the bed and shook out the thin sheet so that it covered the mattress. She slipped underneath, raising the edge, beckoning me to join her.

I gathered her to me, letting her clutch at me until her fingers turned white with the force of her need. And I needed her too. Every muscle in my body gave up the perpetual tension that they carried within them at her smallest touch. She felt it too because, after many minutes of listening to her shaky breathing, her exhales became even and smooth. After that night, I didn't sleep in my house again.

 **XXXXX**

The hardest part of remembering my family was remembering the strange alienation that was part of our family life. Mother appeared to be in a constant rage. My father had lost the battle of wills against my mother years before I had even arrived and was indifferent or powerless to stop her excesses. Sadly, in some ways, it was normal for many District 12 parents to be harsh. Life was unduly hard on families and everyone coped differently with the threat of loss in their own ways.

Except for Katniss' family. It was such a contrast to mine. When she added her father and sister to the memory book, there was an outpouring of memories for days. Despite what came later, the Everdeens had once been a loving and happy family. It made everything that happened to them even more tragic.

"My father taught me how to do this," she said as she showed me how to fix her bows. She pulled out one arrow, which was glossier and less worn than the others. "This is the First Arrow. It is the first arrow of the quiver, made of the same wood as the bow. He told me once that it was tradition, when making bows, to make the First Arrow, and to never fire it, unless you absolutely had no choice. That's why it looks new."

"I had no idea!" I said as I handled the vaunted arrow with care, studying it's fine wood, large, colorful feathers and deadly, carved point.

"It's something that goes back to before the Dark Days. My father never spoke of the things his family passed down to anyone else but me, and only when we were deep in the woods. My mother had her Plant Book. My father had his stories." Katniss carefully set the arrow back in it's quiver. "I think sometimes that's why they got on so well - they loved documenting things. I can't explain it but if there was something to figure out, they figured it out and if there was something to remember, they remembered it. Mom didn't like to hunt but she loved stories about plants, and Father loved stories about everything else, so they always had something to talk about. And Prim and I were always listening."

I wondered what that was like, to grow up in such an environment. Silence was the reigning sound in our home. That seems unbelievable, given that three boys lived there. But we were always living in expectation of my mother's wrath or recovering from something she had already done. Silence. There was no talk of interests because Mother had no other interests - the bakery and paying tithes and spreading a bit of that angry frustration around her world appeared to be her only concern. And my father's primary interest was to ignore the severity of her frustration.

"What about your father's songs? I remember him always singing when he came through town," I asked, to take my mind off of those thoughts that brought so little happiness.

Katniss smiled sadly. "I haven't sung since, well, it's been a long while…" she said, clouds falling over her face. I wondered at her sudden sadness but didn't press, not wanting to bring more melancholy into our time together. But the more I listened, the more I understood the enormity of the loss Katniss had suffered - not just mother and father, but going from a home of warmth and love, things I had never even known, to a house devoid of life and sustenance. And then losing what remained of that family when Prim died. In that moment, I promised to find a way to make up for all those things that had been taken from the both of us.

 **XXXXX**

We didn't speak of those things again, and I was sure Katniss had forgotten. But one day, at the very breaking of dawn, she took me out into the woods with her. It was an incredibly long walk, taking us half the morning to travel. But it was worth every hot, heaving second because when we arrived, she showed me the most extraordinary sight I'd ever seen.

It was a large lake, at least I thought it was large, because I'd never seen more than a puddle in my life. There was the sea in District 4 when we stopped on the Victory Tour. And the beach in the Quarter Quell arena. But these were the mountains I was used to seeing, _my_ mountains, and I had no idea something so stunning was hidden in the middle of them . It made me want to go further, to see what else could be found. This feeling of amazement would forever be tied to Katniss.

Tall reeds grew along the side nearest to us, but in the distance, a green hill rose from the lake and disappeared into the dense forest beyond. On the other side were woods and a bend that hid where the lake ended from my eyes. I thought of my sketchbook and the eagerness with which Katniss had encouraged me that morning to pack it and now I understood why. She knew I would be unable to resist the temptation to draw it, as a momento of our time here.

"My father used to bring me here. As you can see from the walk, we were the only ones to ever come out this way," she said as we settled under a giant tree, with a trunk so large, even with arms connected, Katniss and I could not encircle it. "We can fish until it gets a little warmer and then we'll swim."

"You might recall that I can't swim…" I reminded her sheepishly, glancing out onto the large lake, suddenly feeling very small and vulnerable.

Katniss blushed so suddenly, she dropped her eyes and turned away. "I'll teach you," she answered, pulling a sturdy, thin branch she'd picked up along the way, preparing it with a line she'd brought and worms she'd found along the lake's edge. "Are you afraid I'm going to let you float away?"

I chuckled. "Maybe? Maybe that was your plan all along."

She tied the hook and skillfully pierced the underbelly of the still-squirming worm. "I can't keep any secrets from you, can I?"

"No, you can't. So it's best you don't try," I volleyed, enjoying her jocularity. She shook her head, but the smile was wide on her face as she scaled a rocky outcropping, settling down to drop the line into the water.

"You see," she said as I came up to settle next to her. "The trick is to let it sink down to the bottom and then slowly draw it up, maybe wiggling the stick like this," she gave the stick short flicks, causing the line to undulate beneath the surface. "If there are fish, they'll bite every time." As if to prove the point, the line bent. She waited a few seconds before giving the line a few jerks, than pulling it up. At the end was a dark grey fish whose scales reflected the light like an iridescent rainbow.

"That easy?" I said in awe of the large, shiny thing struggling against the hook.

"Well, a little good luck helps too," she said, slipping the hook out of the fish's mouth. She placed the fish in a net and lowered it into the water, tying the end of it around a rock. "The water will keep the fish fresh until we're ready to leave."

The better part of the morning was spent in that way, alternating between filling the ever-growing net full of fresh fish and walking along the reeds, digging up purple tubers called duck-potatoes or katniss roots. Katniss told me the story of her naming, how her father said if she looked for herself, she'd never go hungry. I told her I was named after a kind of flatbread, and we joked that if putting us both together, we might actually make a decent meal.

When Katniss asked me to swim, I could see that it was something she really wanted. She had insisted on extra shorts that morning so I took a turn behind the giant tree and changed into them, removing everything else and folding it into a neat pile. When I came out, I felt the color spread across my face and neck when I saw she was wearing nothing more than her bra and underwear. She stood staring out into the water, undoing her hair distractedly, perhaps filled with thoughts of her father, so I allowed my gaze to travel hungrily over her body. Her scars were like etches on marble, making look almost magical. She was no longer emaciated, not even by half. She was full in places she hadn't even been less than a year ago. Her body was hovering on the edge of womanhood, evident from the rounding of her hips and the heaviness of her breasts, breasts I tried not to stare at for fear of the more uncontrollable parts of my body.

She turned towards me, her eyes flickering over me in a way that made me blush even more, so much so that I was sure my face and neck were beet red. She didn't try to hide her appraisal, as she took all of me in. I could do no better than stand dumbly and wait for her to finish.

"Ready?" she said finally. I nodded as she stepped into the water. "It's a little muddy so be careful," she said and I nodded, feeling the cool bottom of the lake squirm between my toes, giving way to my weight.

When she saw that I was steady, she went head-first into the water, slicing beneath the surface like a fish herself, but long and elegant, her dark hair flowing behind her like wings. When she emerged further out, I saw the exhilaration pulsing through her body, a smile of winded excitement lighting up her face. She was beyond beautiful when she was happy, and I knew I had to figure out a way to make sure she stayed that way.

She swam back to me, this time on top of the water, her head turning to breathe, then disappearing beneath the surface, slender arms reaching ahead of her as her long strokes propelled her back towards me. I wanted to be able to swim that way.

So began my lesson. She held my waist, helping me learn to float on both my stomach and my back before she taught me the form she'd adopted when she went under water. After much flailing and splashing wherein I did not float away because I kept sinking ignominiously to the bottom, I finally got the hang of underwater swimming and followed Katniss around. She was playful, darting away from me as I chased after her, laughing when I caught her, the smooth, cool skin causing a fever to flare up in me that the water did not quench. When she looked up at me, something smouldered in her eyes that held me frozen in place.

With slick lips, Katniss reached up and kissed me, leaving me dizzy with the explosion of new sensation surrounding me - water, wind, and Katniss - she was everywhere, and the drowning I had feared took place, but not in the lake the way I'd imagined, with head submerged and lungs flooded with water. I got lost in her - her dark hair clinging to my arm wrapped around her waist, the press of her lean torso against mine, her pebbled nipples scraping against my chest and her taste overwhelming my mouth until I drowned, not without pain, in her. I whimpered involuntarily when she pulled back, a small smile her only response as she kissed me again. My hands roamed her body, displacing droplets of water over her skin, the unmistakeable hardness of me throbbing against her warm belly, cocooned between us. She didn't draw back but I could swear, she ground gently against me, so slight a movement that it felt as if a wave was pressing us together. When we finally parted, we were panting and chose to swim several more minutes beside each other before emerging from the water.

After, we ate two of the fish that we'd caught and cleaned, wrapped in herbs and cooked over an open fire, the once iridescent skin now blackened and crisp. She sat close to me, her leg pressed along mine, leaning slightly against me. We spoke of inconsequentials as I sketched the lake before me. When I was done, I held my breath before signing it _for Katniss, with all my love, Peeta_ so that she too would have the concrete memory of one of the most beautiful days of my life.

When I handed her the drawing, she stared for a long time at it, her eyes lidded, so I could not see her expression. When she looked up, her face was full of reverence.

"You asked me about my father's songs. He taught us many. They all tell a story and are older than the memory of our family," she said, running her fingers over the words on the drawing, a caress I felt somewhere in my chest. At the trembling of her voice, I wrapped her in one of the blankets we'd brought that also served as a towel to dry us off. Without warning, she closed her eyes and tilted her head upwards. A sound fell from her lips that traveled down my spine and followed the caress to a place deep in my heart, and I could do no more than watch her in rapt attention:

 _*This old house is falling down around my ears_

 _I'm drowning in a river of my tears_

 _When all my will is gone you hold me sway_

 _I need you at the dimming of the day_

 _You pulled me like the moon_

 _Pulls on the tide_

 _You know just where I keep my better side_

 _What days have come to keep us far apart_

 _A broken promise or a broken heart_

 _Now all the bonny birds have wheeled away_

 _I need you at the dimming of the day_

She opened her eyes, and I thought she might be finished but she looked directly at me, with a gaze I steeled myself to hold. She had destroyed me with her voice, at first rough and breaking on the high notes, warming up into something splendid. It was a voice that would make the mockingjays fall silent and then tumble over themselves to join in. I did not dare look away.

 _Come the night you're only what I want_

 _Come the night you could be my confidant_

 _I see you on the street and in company_

 _Why don't you come and ease your mind with me_

 _I'm living for the night we steal away_

 _I need you at the dimming of the day_

 _I need you at the dimming of the day..._

I thought of my five-year old self, flailing in wonder at her young voice and could not fault myself for loving her. Because there was no question in my mind. I had returned to District 12 out of devotion, drawn to her after all that had happened, because she was all I had left of who I had once been. But I also remembered that I still loved her. Even after everything, after we'd been beaten, burned, chewed and spit out onto the green earth again. I still loved her. I don't know why something so obvious should also be so momentous, but with the boldness that comes from the insinuation that she might feel the same way too, I pulled her gently to me in love and gratitude for her song.

She wasn't skittish with me. She'd never been and why I had to insist on it, I wasn't sure, but she let me hold onto her. She even rewarded me with a kiss, her grey eyes fluttering closed only after she was sure I would kiss her back. And I did kiss her back, as much as she allowed. It was like starting all over again. We stopped when the afternoon sun dropped below a certain point, but even then, she remained in my arms until the threat of being caught in the forest at night forced us to leave.

 **XXXXX**

We came home different from when we'd left. My skin tingled from the water, the sun, and Katniss, who sought every reason to touch me. Her body was no longer bent from hunger and misery - she had grown strong from going into her beloved woods each day and eating well. Her nightmares still woke us that night, but this time, that feeling of being lost to the world, of not having anything else but each other to feed our deepest hunger exploded between us, and she sought more than comfort from me. When I held her, promising that I would stay with her through everything, I knew it would've happened anyway - the kisses and heat and desperate need to be with one another despite all the days that had come before to keep us apart.

And after, when we had rocked together in the best way our inexperience would allow, I had a disjointed moment in which I was sure I had dreamed the last few months. My mind made me believe, in that brief parenthesis of desperation, that I was still in that bleached-white cell, dreaming of her body, dreaming of her love. I became terrified and lost in the maze of my memory and reached out to her, to anchor me in a reality I feared I had invented.

" _You love me, real or not real_?" I said, imploring with all my heart that she not dissipate into the ether because this time, I would not survive it.

She turned, as if reading my need and kissed me again, whispering, " _Real_ ," destroying the phantom of that other time once and for all and giving me the gift of a reality where our love could finally live.

 **XXXXX**

 ** _*The song used in this part is_** ** _The Dimming of the Day,_** **** ** _performed by Alison Krauss. I know I'm being picky but this rendition is closest to the way I imagine Katniss sings this song to Peeta near her father's lake._**


	4. So After

**_Written for Prompts in Panem, Day 4 - Peeta's Paintbox - Green_**

 ** _Bonus:_** _To watch the fanvideo for this fic and the song **Light a Fire** by the incomparable _**_akai-echo_** _, click_ ** _HERE_** ** _._**

 **Part 4 - So After**

 **Peeta says it will be okay. We have each other.**

 **Suzanne Collins, _Mockingjay_**

I woke to the sound of rain and sleet splattering against the window panes. It was a chilly even by March's standard. The winter was beginning to wane but there were days like these when the cold would not loosen its clutches Spring could not begin in earnest like it had last year, so the early mornings were crisp with the smell of frost. The window was still a little open and a small drip of condensation landed in the towel-stuffed pan Katniss had placed underneath it last night, for she had predicted that it would rain and damned if she wasn't right every single time.

Thinking of her brought a smile to my face. She was curled against my shoulder, her breathing soft and easy under the heavy duvet. I slowly turned on my side and placed my arm around her waist, which was soft and pliant. Without thinking, my hand found her firm, round bottom and kneaded it gently. I felt a jolt down to my groin at the feel of her tender underside beneath my fingers but stopped when she shifted, not really wanting to wake her. I held her for a while longer in a twilight state of half-sleep, enjoying the sound and smell of her until she began to stir, stretching out her long limbs.

"Hi," she rasped drowsily, her eyes slowly opening and closing as she became accustomed to the dimly rising sun.

"Hey," I said, resuming my kneading of her bottom now that she was awake.

"Mmmm, just a little higher...right there…" she purred.

"Pull a muscle?" I asked, trying to hide the way this simple act of touching her was setting all my nerve endings on fire.

"No...just sore. Uhhh…" she arched against me, the erection I was trying to hide poking her belly.

"You seem just fine," she whispered, reaching down to encircle my shaft with her long fingers, the tips of which had callouses from hunting. But her palms were like velvet as she stroked me. I grew and hardened until I ached with hunger and kissed her neck and breasts to distract myself from the rapid tightening of my belly.

"I want to be inside of you," I whined as she worked. She stared at my face, watching every expression of my pleasure and pain, like a huntress watches her prey.

"Please..." I begged, pressing her back against the bed. She smiled before letting go of my shaft, widening her legs for me to settle between them. I slowly entered her with equal parts agony and relief. Even after so many months of getting to know each other's bodies, playing the games I had only ever dreamed of playing with her, there was always more of her to uncover - layers and layers of secrets, some within reach, some I would never in a lifetime discover. But it would be my privilege to try.

"Peeta...don't...don't...stop..." she moaned as I sped up, snapping my hips against hers. She reached down between us and touched herself, and it was enough to nearly make me lose my mind. I closed my eyes, thinking of baking recipes, shopping lists, finally recalling an image of a drooling, passed-out Haymitch after one of his benders to keep me from exploding right there and then. When I opened my eyes, she was lost as she gripped my hair, controlling my rhythm by tugging the curls this way and that. She bit her lip, her body clenching rhythmically around me until she let out a cry and came in powerful waves.

I tried to hold on but the sensation of her falling apart around me was too much, and I plunged into her, putting as much of myself behind each thrust until I came in trembling spasms of wet heat. I was immediately weightless, then mindless as I fell onto my arms, heaving from the exertion.

I would never get used to this - to being inside of her, to dissolving into complete nothingness and waking to find her next to me. Each time I died a little death from which I rose, to a dream that I discovered each time to be real. We were still young and strong. When the life I had lived made me feel a century old, making love to Katniss reminded me that I was still nineteen and there were years before both of us, begging to be lived and lived well.

I kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her nose. She swatted me away playfully, avoiding my lips because she could do everything with that mouth except kiss me without brushing her teeth first. I finally rolled onto my back, pulling her onto me, fighting another wave of drowsiness.

"It's going to be cold and snowy all day," Katniss said.

"Mmm...you called it." I answered. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know," she said but she smiled, and there was something in it that spoke of secrets and hidden plans.

"What are you up to?" I laughed.

"What makes you think I'm up to anything?" she answered, her grey eyes sly and secretive, heightening my already alert instincts.

"Because you are the worst liar in the world," I teased, only half joking.

She smirked, burrowing into my side. "I'm cold. I can't get up if I'm cold. So I guess we'll have to stay in bed."

As if in protest, her stomach growled, provoking a wave of laughter from both of us. "I think your belly has other ideas," I teased.

Katniss sighed, rubbing her stomach appreciatively. "I should feed the beast." But instead of rolling out of bed as I thought she might, she hooked her leg over my left leg and slid over to straddle me. "Still cold!" she said as she shivered against my chest.

"Come here, then" I said, pinning her to me. "I'll keep you warm."

 **XXXXX**

Despite her empty belly, we stayed in a bed for half the morning. Katniss was famished by then, so we made a larger than normal breakfast. We were in no hurry - we had nowhere to be, with the dreary weather. We indulged ourselves in a slow day. When we had cleared away breakfast, she asked me to make a raisin and nut loaf for her.

"I've got a sudden urge for it," she said by way of explanation.

"Sure," I said, genuinely thrilled that she was comfortable enough to ask me for what she wanted. It hadn't always been that way. "It'll take about an hour, though."

She stretched up to kiss me. "That's okay. It'll give me a chance to go upstairs and clean up."

"Okay," I answered, giving her a sidelong glance as I watched her walk upstairs. She gave so little away - her face could become a mask, hiding her every feeling. Sometimes it was unconscious when she didn't want to talk about something - a nightmare or some displeasure from a disagreement with me. We didn't argue often - most of the time, it didn't even seem worth it to expend the energy on meaningless things, though we talked all the time. We didn't always agree but arguing required a fire we no longer possessed.

But something was on her mind, and she was holding her feelings close to her chest.

As I collected the ingredients to prepare the bread, I reviewed the events of the last few days but couldn't find any clues as to what might be the cause of her preoccupation and finally let the thought go. One thing I had learned to do was to trust her. She would come to me in her own time and tell me what I needed to know.

She descended at some point as I was placing the bread in the warmed oven. I could already smell the spices as the heat began to do its work, filling the kitchen with its aroma. I sensed I was being watched and turned to see Katniss standing in the doorway. Who knew how long she'd been there, watching me work? But the expression on her face was soft, almost reverential. I smiled back at her, and my breath hitched when I took in her appearance. Her hair was set in intricate braids around her head - not unlike the first time she had been reaped - but more complex still than those. She wore a simple dress, typical of District 12, the color of burnt autumn leaves, even though it was nearly spring time. It was a color she knew I loved, setting a contrast with her dark skin that made her appear to glow.

When I closed the space between us, I noticed she was shaking. "You are so beautiful, Katniss," I said, almost afraid to touch her for fear I'd move something out of place. I grasped her hand instead.

The compliment appeared to quell her nervousness and she squeezed my hand in response. "Why don't you go upstairs and clean up too? I can finish here." A sudden flush spread across her face, making her look younger than ever. A jagged scar along her neck appeared to glow from the color. "Wear something nice."

"What is this all about?" I asked.

Katniss' eyes darted around the kitchen and it was all the confirmation I needed that she had something in mind and was not going to tell me. "Trust me. It's a surprise."

Despite my curiosity, I did what she asked, going up to our bedroom to shower and dress. I also chose something typical of District 12, trying to follow Katniss' lead. We'd both kept the clothes that had been designed for us by Cinna, not because we wanted anything to do with that time of our lives anymore, but out of sentimental attachment to to the designer and because Katniss was too practical to throw away something that could be of use to us or others later on. They were buried deep in our closet, behind Katniss' hunting clothes and handful of dresses and my every-day trousers and shirts, safely out of memory's way.

When I was done, I returned downstairs to look for Katniss. The kitchen light was off but there was a soft glow from the living room. The wind was whipping the trees outside and the sound of a late snowstorm fell with a lulling rhythm against the windows, though it was not enough to dampen the warmth of the room as I entered. Katniss had drawn the heavy curtains, the light emanating from candles placed strategically throughout the space. It was a beautiful effect - soft and inviting. But the fireplace wasn't lit. While I wondered at this, I finally saw her working over a small table near the unlit fireplace.

She turned at my arrival, a small handkerchief trembling in her hand. I was about to ask her what was going on when I caught sight of the items on the table - a loaf of bread wrapped in fine, white linen, a large bread knife, a bottle of wine and a tinderbox. I looked from her to the table, then glanced around the room. "Katniss?" I asked, my heart racing as understanding dawned on me. But it couldn't be. My heart didn't want to believe what my eyes were telling me.

Katniss stared at me, swallowing hard, trying but failing to speak. Finally, she took a deep breath.

"I...it's been a year...to the day since...since you came back. And I...well...I...want...I don't…" she said haltingly.

"Are you...do you want to do a toasting?" I asked in surprise.

"Yeah...if you do...You do...don't you?" Her eyes widened in terror. I would have laughed if the occasion weren't so serious.

"Katniss, you have to know how much I've wanted this. I always have, ever since I heard you sing when we were five. Do you remember that?"

She nods, a look between happiness and intense pain crossing her face. "I remember…" she nods again, and I know she is on the verge of tears. I pull her to me and held her.

"You have my entire life in your hands. You can do whatever you want with it. Anything you want from me, you can have it."

She nodded against my chest, clinging to me with a tenacity that reminded me of the first time I held her through the night after my return to District 12. "I give you my life too. Whatever you need, whatever you look for, I'll try my best to give it to you."

I tilted her head up to kiss her. My girl. My happily ever after. "You already give me what I want, without me having to ask," I said before kissing her, a long luxurious kiss, a kiss that one time, I would have never dreamed I could give her. Now I could whenever I wanted to. It was a luxury to hold her like this but also a necessity, something I could no longer live without.

When we let each other go, Katniss took the tinder box and led me to the fireplace. She'd laid out a thick duvet and several large pillows so we lowered ourselves on to those. She struck the long match and put it in my hand. Placing hers over mine, we lit the kindling together, and watched as the fire climbed higher and higher. Our fire, built from love and not anger or hatred. A gust of wind struck the side of the house, startling in its ferocity. We barely acknowledged it as Katniss held the knife, and together we cut a slice of the very same bread I had tossed to her on that fateful day so long ago, the bread that had bound up our destinies together forever.

We placed the bread on a tong and together, held it in the flame, watching it become brown and crisp. Katniss turned towards me, her face serene, the glow from the fire making her look like a magical creature again. And maybe she was. Maybe she had been made of all the things that strength and beauty were made from, all bundled up into one small, stubborn, taciturn, wonderful girl. But she glowed and, at the risk of burning the bread, I kissed her again.

There was no formality to a toasting ceremony - it could be done with or without, witnesses because it was a private commitment between two people, born of the necessity of keeping things that mattered hidden from those who could steal your happiness. Still, no one in District 12 felt truly married without one.

After Katniss pulled the bread from the fire and blew on it to cool it down, we raised the piece and together bit into it, our noses tapping against each other. It was a hearty bread, full of nuts and raisins, meant to feed and sustain a person for long after it had been eaten. I chewed it carefully, committing everything to memory so that I could sketch it later - the glow of the fire we'd lit together, the braids in Katniss' hair that I hoped she would leave in for as long as they held their shape, the orange of her dress, the burnt flavor of the aromatic bread on our tongues, the fat tear that rolled down her cheek when she swallowed.

"I love you, Peeta Mellark. I will always love you," she murmured, and my heart nearly burst from the sound of those words on her lips. She did not throw that word around often, though she showed me that she loved me in every way that she could. When she said it, it warmed everything inside of me. I set aside the bread onto a plate and grasped her face in both my hands.

"I love you, Katniss Mellark. You're mine now, and I will never, ever take that for granted. I'm going to take care of you and keep you safe and warm for as long as I live."

She nodded and I kissed her, a kiss that sealed the ceremony and placed the finishing tie on the knots that now bound us up to each other forever. There was no paper, no law that would make us feel more married than we did at that moment. We held each other for a long time as the fire roared behind us. Katniss pressed me back onto the pillows and soon the fire was inside of us. We were like fire mutts who owned the heat and gave it freely back to each other, shielding each other from the ice that lay outside our door. My mouth traced a path of fire on her skin, and she responded in kind with a heat of her own, her hands and lips everywhere on my body.

As I promised, I gave her everything that I had. I buried myself between her legs and made sure that she wouldn't soon forget this day, that she would remember not only the toast and the fire but also her own cries of joy as I made her sing. It was the beginning of forever for us, and we met it with our own flame, a fire that put the one the Capitol would have once used to destroy us to shame. This time, it would sustain us long after it died away. On that day, Katniss gave me the gift of our future, with all that a bright future with her could imply. I held on for dear life as she carried us both into it.


End file.
